Holmes For The Holidays
by Spockologist
Summary: My response to Hades' Christmas countdown. Ranging anywhere on the fluff to angst scale. NON-SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, everybody! I'm trying to join in on the Christmas fun, but just a heads up that I may fall behind a bit as December is a crazy month for me. Thanks to Hades for suggesting the calendar again! It's going to be a blast**_**.**_

_**Prompt from Werepanther33, It's snowing. **_

It's snowing.

The lantern splutters in the howling wind and blows out in a blink.

Holmes shifts uncomfortably on the frozen ground and tries to use his coat to better cover the unconscious form lying in his lap; skin the same temperature as the falling flakes.

It's snowing.

Watson is barely breathing and the carriage driver has yet to return. This will be the last time he ever pays up front again. Blasted country roads…

His fingers dance nervously over frozen stiff tweed and check a weak pulse as his slim understanding of the medical profession flits through his brain. He's not a doctor.

Watson's eyelashes flutter; and for a moment, there's recognition- then he's gone again.

He is alone.

And it's snowing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Prompt from Werepanther33: The Skull Gets a Santa Hat.**

"Holmes, you're being ridiculous."

"Nonsense, Watson. It looks festive! It looks grand! It looks-

"Utterly nonsensical and a bit childish if you ask me."

"Where is your Christmas spirit? Yorrick clearly wanted to celebrate. Don't be such a Scrooge."

"It's a plaster of Paris skull. To be honest, I find it a little insulting. The Season is not to be used for decorating images of the dead. Possibly try the traditions of South America if you want to be that way."

"Poppycock. I think a little to the left…yes, there. Gives him a jaunty air, don't you say? Oy, there! Mrs. Hudson! Look at my cranial specimen all arrayed in joyful splendor!"

"…Doctor Watson, has he been-

"Holmes, give over the cocaine bottle."

"My precious…."

**I have the flu and wanted something cracky. What can I say?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Prompt from I'm Nova: Sun.**

The day was just beginning to dawn. Outside, the chimney sweeps whistled greetings to each other and the creaking of wheels told of street vendors already on the move. A fog had settled over London during the night; casting tendrils of lazy mist through the alleys.

I watched the scene unfold before me from the window. Holmes cast me a quick glance before turning the page on the newspaper; his voice muffled with his first pipe of the morning clenched between his teeth.

"Sun ought to be out before too long."


	4. Chapter 4

**Prompt from ImaLateBloomer: **_**Holmes shops for a gift for Lestrade **_

It must be perfect.

Not too trivial or sentimental, yet not too lighthearted to be considered an insult.

Gift shopping was an over romantic notion anyhow and entirely a waste of time.

Holmes scowled into a shop window; startling the child inside.

Why must this be so blastedly difficult? Shopping for Watson wasn't too much of a challenge- he could deduce much of what his companion wanted just by watching him.

But Lestrade.

What to buy for Lestrade.

He didn't see why he had to purchase a gift for the bumbling Inspector in the first place. If he hadn't wagered Watson that he could match any person to any present in under an hour, then things would have been fine.

Holmes checked his watch: Quarter of an hour left. So far he had purchased his presents for Mycroft (Mahogany chess set) Mrs. Hudson (New cooking ware and a note of apology for the destruction of her grandmother's pie tins) and Watson. (Transportable writing desk and stationary)

But Lestrade. What to purchase Lestrade.

He could give him a magnifying glass. Then perhaps the Inspector could notice a thing or two.

But that would be rude.

And Watson had made him promise to give nothing sarcastic. So the magnifying glass, calling card and child chemistry set were all out.

But Lestrade….

The two words ran through his head like a violin solo. Wailing and repetitive and clearly not getting him anywhere.

Holmes studied his reflection in the shop window. The child previously frightened peered cautiously at him from behind his mother's skirts.

It must be a clever gift. Personal. Showing thought and sincerity from the giver.

The detective ran back to Baker Street to finish his task.

~o0o~

Lestrade stared at the letter in front of him. The crumpled wrapping paper discarded on the floor.

_This card grants the holder one free detective consultation on any case too difficult for Scotland Yard. Cannot be combined with any other contracts or consulting agencies. Not to be copied. One card per customer. Expires December 1897. _

_Best Wishes and a Happy New Year,_

_SH_


	5. Chapter 5

**Prompt from ImaLateBloomer: **_**Snow Angels**_

**To be taken with a sense of irony. **

The cemetery stood still in the silence.

Frigid air held everything in a spell of quiet reverence as the sun glinted harshly down.

A bird fluttered a cautious wing from a low hanging branch; disrupting the tranquility of the scene.

That one small movement was all it took for the decision to be made.

"Get 'im lads!" Wiggins yelled; launching himself from the barricade made from broken headstones and crypts- his arsenal of readymade snowballs firing in rapid succession at the enemy.

The other Irregulars didn't stand a chance. They fell quickly; one by one and Wiggins, his winter coat full of patches and his trousers cut short above the ankles- jumped proudly onto an above ground casket- whooping joyfully.

"Shut yer gob." Henry pushed him off his perch and tackled him into the snow. The boys rallied around quickly and a powdery fight ensued before breaking apart into panting grins.

"I can whip ye any day." Wiggins wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I was just goin' easy on ya."

"Aye, aye, he talks, he does." Stevie rolled his eyes. "But he's not but a big softie, being sweet on Miss Eliza."

Another scuffle resulted; this one not as friendly, and it's even tempered James that pulled them apart.

"Hush. Do you hear that? I think I heard t' gate a'creakin."

The Irregulars scrambled for their various getaways- the clergy fellow told them off smartly last time- before peering back to see who dared to enter their fortress.

"Oy! It's the Crow and his sweetheart."

There are snickers all around and the boys dived behind a family plot to watch the couple make their way through the headstones to a bench underneath a frozen willow tree.

"See 'ow he holds her 'and he does." Henry pointed. "Mr. 'Olmes said he kens a right proposal before spring."

"That's rubbish." Wiggins retorted-his ears turning pink as he thinks of holding hands with Miss Eliza.

"No, I think they-

The boys scrambled to close their eyes and, Billie, the youngest and newest member to the group, lets out a gagging sound that is rewarded by several cold hands clamping over his mouth as Doctor Watson kisses Miss Morstan softly.

"I _told _ye Mr. 'Olmes was right." Henry boasted. "Gimme a shilling."

"I ain't got none. 'Sides, I never bet ye any."

"I saw ol' man Rigs on the corner give ye a shilling for shinning his shoes."

"It's mine. Ye can't have it."

"He's going to use it to buy sweets for Miss Eliza."

There were several snorts, and Wiggins, growing irritated to having lost control over his gang, shouted into the morning air:

"I _never _said I was going sweet on Miss Eliza! Now gimme back me shilling!"

The Irregulars froze. Wiggins, breathing hard, turned slowly as Doctor Watson stood and made his way to peer down at them.

"Hello, boys."

"Morning, guv."

"How'd ye do?"

"Top of the morning."

"G'day, Doc."

"Are you having a nice time?" His brown eyes showed amusement and Wiggins squirmed.

"Yes, sir."

"John?" Miss Morstan came to stand beside him and the boys scrambled to their feet; doffing caps.

"Hello, Miss Morstan."

"It's nothing, Mary." Doctor Watson smiled. "I told you this cemetery was full of angels."

Henry, who had waited until the Doctor had turned away, shoved snow at Wiggins; who ducked; hitting Watson square in the back.

"Gimme me shilling ye stupid sot!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Prompt from Inner Titan: **_**SPOILER ALERT!**_

"Mrs. Hudson, what have you made for breakfast this morning?" I smiled hopefully as I finished knotting my tie. Watching our landlady place the tea service on the table made my mouth water in anticipation for freshly made sausages. I had had a long night out with cold weather coming in and an even longer day planned ahead of me and something filling sounded not only reviving, but welcoming to my much imagined starvation.

"She can't tell you." Holmes whipped around the doorway and slammed the tray back down. "It's a secret. Watson, use this handkerchief as a blindfold. Today we are testing our senses in a meal devoid of sight."

"_You_, may do that all you wish." I responded tartly, sitting down. "I have patients to attend to and don't want to participate this morning."

"Ah, yes. The ever vigilant physician. I understand." Holmes patted my shoulder in an attempt at comfort before wrapping his handkerchief around my eyes. "Now, if you will tell me what sense is first heightened by the lack of vision. In your case, I am going to assume the olfactory nerves have become more invested?"

"Holmes!" I whipped the blindfold off. "I would like to eat my meal in peace before going out to work. Unlike you, I don't like being kept up all hours of the night."

He slid into the chair across from me and steepled his fingers: an expectant look on his face.

"The sense of smell, yes." I confessed. "But only because I have been inhaling the meal for the last quarter of an hour."

"That's all I needed to know."

He glided gracefully to the mantle and picked up his pipe. I reached to uncover my plate. Before I could raise the lid, his hand shot out and slammed it back down.

"Absolutely not! We must go through the process step by step. I have not planned this ritual for nothing. Now. If you would please stuff these wads off cotton in your ears to prevent sound."

"No! Now get that cotton out of my face and let me eat in peace. Ask one of your Irregulars to play this game with you."

He looked puzzled. "It's not in your face, it's in my hand.* And I cannot ask one of my Irregulars because they do not have the right sort of palate needed for this delicate experiment. Now again, I ask you-

I pushed his hand away from my plate and raised the lid. Holmes yelled in indignation.

"Spoiler alert!"

***yes….I did indirectly quote Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes. My ACD Holmesian self is yelling at me right now. But it's almost one in the morning and I have to admit… I find it rather amusing.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Prompt from SheWhoScrawls: **_**REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR. A gypsy stops Holmes, asking to tell his fortune, including his involvement in the two world wars he would live to see.**_

**This was a hard one for me. WWII is a very personal subject and I've never considered anything Sherlockian for that time period. So it's short, and really doesn't cover much, but I offer it to you. Please remember to be grateful for those who died during that terrible war. It made men out of boys and reminded us that the price for freedom comes at a great cost. May we always remember the great men and women who did, and still do, devote their time and ultimately their lives in defending our God given rights.**

**And if that doesn't make me sound American… **

Holmes ducked out of the alley and plunged into the crowds of London; the shoe leather in his pocket rubbed against his leg giving him a confident air as he pieced this last bit of evidence together in his most current case.

He should have enough evidence to finally give Seymour the trial he deserved.

Weaving between market stalls, he was suddenly stopped as a stooped woman grabbed his coat tail and pulled him to her. He yanked it away defensively, thinking her to be an old beggar or worse, a spy for Seymour.

"I have no money for you today." He said curtly. "Good day to you."

Her weathered and trembling hand reached towards his face; her eyes searching. "You are a man of many secrets. I would love to see your soul."

He stepped backwards. "I am not interested in what you have to say. Soothsaying is an evil work and I do not place my faith in such petty things."

"You will lose a loved one soon."

He stopped dead and turned back. Seymour had gone to great lengths in his game and Watson's safety had been jeopardized many a time. "What do you know?"

Her face was crinkled with lines and her teeth rotten, but her eyes were kind. "You will live to see much, Mr. Holmes. There is war coming."

"Yes, we've been dreading a-

"It is worse than you can imagine. There will be one war, but you will live to see its successor. It will combine continents, death will be everywhere. And you will see it."

"I…." Holmes was at a loss for words. "I thank you for your time." He pulled away and walked down the street, cringing as the woman shouted after him:

"God bless you, Mr. Holmes!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry to be a couple of days behind! This prompt is for the eighth of December, from Mrs. Pencil: **_** A trip to the zoo, what could go wrong?**_

I had been up and down the zoo for almost two hours. Holmes had asked me to meet him here and couldn't be found anywhere. My leg was aching terribly and I sank down onto a waiting bench and stretched; wincing.

There was a whisper from behind me.

I turned around, but saw only the fierce eyes of a tiger in its cage staring back at me. It was a beautiful creature: with massive paws and a glossy coat. I was transported back to my days in India, when catching such a beast was a great honor.

But even the tigers in India didn't talk.

Still deep in the mentality of stalking prey through the jungles of India, my eyes trailed through the enclosure; looking for the source.

"_Watson, up here."_

The voice was louder, more frantic. I looked up to see Holmes struggling to climb over the last bit of fence as the tiger's mate watched hungrily; hoping for an unlucky slip.

"Holmes!" I shouted, jumping to my feet as my leg groaned in protest. "What in the blazes are you doing?"

"Needed a sample of tiger fur." He panted. "For my case. I…." his long leg swung dangerously close to gaping teeth- "Needed to match the sample to the strands found on the coat of Mr. Whiting to see if they are in fact of the _panthera tigris_ family . It will prove most useful in my studies." His pipe fell out of his pocket and fell to the ground. Holmes's eyes widened slightly and he leapt to the ground without thinking. "No! Oh, no you don't!"

The tigers growled.

Holmes froze.

"Watson, perhaps you would ask the zoo keeper for assistance?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Trying to catch up here. Prompt from cjnwriter: **_**Watson's bull pup, a ball of yarn and a polar bear.**_

"Watson, I am taking a poll on the abstract thought process of the individual. I want you to tell me what you see when I hold up this piece of paper."

"I see…a dot on a perfectly good piece of stationary."

"Incorrect. It's clearly a polar bear blinking in a snow storm. Next image.

"It's a ball of yarn?"

"Wrong again. Really, Watson, where is your creativity? It's a symbolic representation of the mess of humanity visualized in the twisting, knotting strands. You see commonplace while I look on the much larger picture. What do you see here?"

"It looks like a dog. My dog."

"No, it's an old woman jumping off of cab roof."

"Are you sure, Holmes? It looks like my bull pup."

"Ha! You need to get your eyes examined. Possibly your brain as well. What ridiculous… oh. Oh you're quite right. Switched the slides around. My apologies. _This _one, however, is the old woman."

"My word. I do see that one."


	10. Chapter 10

**Prompt from Inner Titan: **_**Involving one gunshot and a badly placed street light.**_

The day was long extinguished. The nightlife crawled from underground and out of taverns as the shadows lengthened into differentiating shades of black and lay still.

The street lamps were lit.

That lamp.

That cursed, wretched lamp was obstructing the view. What he wouldn't give to snuff it out for only ten minutes and have the darkness of the night adjust before his eyes. He could barely see the silhouette in the window because of the glare.

Such work was meant only for the dead of night.

Moran ground a cigarette beneath his heel and took aim. It would just take one.

One bullet.

One target.

One gunshot in the darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

**Prompt from Embracetheweird: **_**What are you looking at?**_

"What are you looking at?"

"Well…you appear to have slammed your face in the bedroom door. Can you see out of your eye at all?"

"Very funny, Watson"

"What happened?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Come, Holmes, it's just a bruise. What happened?"

"It takes up half my face! I look ghastly! And the story is insulting! Inform Mycroft I shan't be able to attend the gala with him this evening. He shall have to suffer through it with you as his sole companion."

"How kind."

"Look at it, Watson! All black and purple. I never expected such violence from a woman!"

"You're saying a woman did this to you?"

"It was a mistake! A rare slip up! I accused her of leaving her husband for the butcher when in fact it was her husband that had left her! How was I to know she would use her purse as a weapon? I could have died."

"I do think you are taking this a tad too far. I fear your ego is far more bruised than your face."

"A woman, Watson! A woman!"

"Mr. Holmes, your brother is here to- good gracious! Are you quite alright?"

"A WOMAN."


	12. Chapter 12

**Prompt from Aleine Skyfire: **_**In the spirit of the season, Gregson reluctantly helps Lestrade out.**_

"Inspector…I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Please, Gregson, this is important."

A skeptical Gregson watched as his superior officer wiped his sweating brow with a kerchief.

"She might not like it."

"Pshaw, you know nothing of women. How old are you?"

"Old enough."

"Smart answer. Now if we position the mistletoe just above the doorway here, she'll have no other option but to kiss me when she comes in to be interviewed."

"Sir, if I may, this does seem a little unprofessional. Taking advantage of someone in her circumstances. A lady in distress no less."

Lestrade seemed to mull it over, then shrugged. "Very well. I shall question her first and then, as I escort her comfortingly to the door, I will point upwards at the mistletoe to break the tension."

Gregson blinked. "Well, I can't argue with that."


	13. Chapter 13

**Prompt from Lemon Zinger: **_**Ten Word Challenge. (Words listed at bottom)**_

There are things a soldier never forgets. Images seen in battle; echoes cried in pain. Injury and illness received not only to oneself, but inflicted upon others. It is a wonder more do not buckle beneath the strain.

Fighting for Queen and country is not only an honor, but a way of life. After the fight is over, the real struggle begins. Sometimes the day to day is too much. The temptation to kneel before the fates and accept the suffering one has been dealt is a constant threat.

But the beckoning must be ignored. A soldier is not born, but made. Out of the ashes do they rise; a brazen look upon their brow and the innocence of humanity gone from their gaze.

They see the coldness of reality. The seething rage that must be soothed and put to rest. The world depends on them. To keep them safe, to protect what is held most high above all others. For home, for family; God and country.

There is nothing under moon nor sun that would stop them from protecting what is dear to them. Being a soldier is more than glory and fame, it is a code by which to live by. Loyalty is not bought, it is earned.

And with these thoughts in mind,

John Watson pulled the trigger.

**Ignore, after, seethe, kneel, moon, ashes, brazen, forget, gone and honor.**


End file.
